One Last Breath

by Lisa Jackson

  “I don’t think you have a choice.” Darlene was serious. “Just here,” she added, pointing to another nook near a section of floor-to-ceiling windows, not far from the bank of elevator cars and the stairs but out of the path of doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors who passed by. It was similar to her sleeping area outside the ICU.

  Rooted to the spot, Rory wanted nothing more than to take off at a sprint. To grab Charlotte and run far away to . . . anywhere. But she fought the urge. Charlotte was too sick to move, needed doctors’ care and now . . . now . . . whether she wanted to admit it or not, she wasn’t going to be able to avoid the truth. Liam had found her. If he didn’t know about Charlotte yet, he would soon enough. “Fine,” she stated flatly, even though the situation wasn’t. Nothing was “fine.” Not even close.

  Darlene ushered her daughter and son–in-law to the alcove with its view of a parking area stretching between the hospital and a concrete-and-brick structure that housed several floors of clinics and labs. The nook was complete with two short sofas facing each other, and a coffee table—a forgotten paperback novel and several dog-eared magazines scattered across its top—wedged between them. There was barely enough room to sit down and not bang your shins on it.

  Rory and Darlene sat on one sofa while Liam claimed the opposite one. Rory imagined the hundreds of questions that must be racing through his brain. Bracing herself for the worst, she pressed herself into the sofa cushions as he leaned forward, his hands clasped so hard his knuckles blanched. It was almost anticlimactic when all he asked was, “Why, Rory?”

  Her throat closed for a second and as she replayed those terrifying seconds when she was being attacked by the would-be killer with his otherworldly, helium-induced falsetto, when a knife slashed in the hotel room and balloons floated as if in slow motion to the ceiling. “To save. . .” She almost whispered, “Charlotte,” but she stopped herself, unwilling to go there, to admit that she’d been pregnant with his child. This wasn’t the time. Not here, in this public building with people wandering past and her mother sitting rigidly next to her. “I . . . I was being attacked. A man in a mask came into the room with balloons and the intent to kill me.” “With balloons?” he questioned, his brows a dark line.

  “I thought it was a gift. An arrangement, you know, like flowers. Someone wishing me well before the wedding, but . . .” She struggled for the right words and couldn’t find them. Every muscle in her body felt tight and her heart was beating a wild tattoo. “But . . . no. He was there because he wanted to kill me . . . and . . .” She choked on her daughter’s name. This wasn’t the way to tell him and yet . . . here he was, in the hospital, and soon he’d know that he’d fathered a wonderful baby girl . . . Maybe she should just spit out the truth. All of it: The good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful—that he had a gregarious imp of a daughter with laughing eyes and springy red curls, a girl whose sense of humor had already developed, a curious child filled with wonderment and promise, whose laugh could brighten any room. She had to tell him. “Liam, there’s something you should—”

  “Who?” he cut her off harshly. “Who was trying to kill you?”

  “I don’t know. He was disguised, wore a mask, and he threatened me with a knife and he spoke in a weird high voice, like he’d been sucking helium from the balloons. It was—terrifying.” She inwardly shivered at the memory.

  “Why would anybody attack you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “None?”

  She shook her head, but was aware that it wasn’t going to matter what she said. His mind was already made up. He’d lived in his own world for so long, no doubt his feelings for her souring as he slowly realized she’d duped him, that she’d let him think she might be dead. “I’ve asked myself that for five very long years.”

  “It’s okay,” Darlene whispered, and patted one of her hands.

  “No, it’s not,” she said, forcing a smile that fell off her lips as soon as she managed it. “It will never be.”

  Liam seemed about to say something when his phone rang in his pocket. When he ignored it, Rory went on to Darlene, “Nothing’s okay about this, about that terrible day and . . . and . . . Aaron.” She could scarcely get out her stepbrother’s name, her guilt was so huge. “He was killed in that attack. Why? I mean and you”—she focused on Liam again, his sharp features now harsh and condemning—“you were injured, could have been killed.”

  “I survived.” Not a muscle moved on his face.

  “Your father . . . he’s . . . okay?”

  “I don’t count being confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life being okay.”

  Rory squeezed her eyes shut, felt tears burn the back of her eyelids, and this time when Darlene patted her hand she didn’t draw away. When she finally opened her eyes she was looking straight into Liam’s. The absolute censure in his expression killed her. “I’m sorry. For everything that happened.”

  “Why did you vanish into thin air?” He abruptly got to his feet, banging his shin, not even registering it.

  “I told you—”

  “I heard. You took off from the guy who attacked you. But then you just stayed away.”

  She climbed to her feet as well, more carefully. “Someone did shoot at the guests. Was it him? I don’t know. I just ran. And then later, when I heard what happened and it seemed like the police and everyone thought I was involved, somehow a part of the attack, it seemed safer for everyone to just not come back.”

  “You knew Rory was all right.” His eyes bored into Darlene, who was watching the escalating argument with wide eyes.

  Darlene nodded jerkily.

  “And Kent Daley,” he swept on. “He was in on it with that woman in Vancouver, Maude. And Connie whatever her name is, the owner of the Point Bob Buzz, she knew, too.” He came around the coffee table, his face close to Rory’s. “But me, your own husband, you couldn’t trust with the truth. You left me to wonder what the hell happened, not knowing if you were dead or alive, if you were wounded or complicit.”

  It sounded so cowardly. “I thought, because of what he said—”

  “The killer balloon man.”

  “Yes. I thought it would be better if I left. Safer.”

  “You thought the assault on the wedding was about you?”

  He was jumping to conclusions, but maybe . . . yes . . . when she’d heard what happened, she’d thought she made the right choice, more than she’d even known when she first ran. “I was singled out before the ceremony, so . . .”

  He’ll never understand. It doesn’t matter anyway.

  “I have to go and check on Charlotte.” She would have pushed him out of her way, but he stepped back quickly, as if full body contact was too intimate for him.

  “Your daughter?” he asked.

  She hesitated, saw that her mother was about to say something—Darlene, who had been mute during their argument. Rory’s heart jolted as she understood. She wanted Rory to come clean about Charlotte’s parentage, tell Liam that he was her father. Right now.

  “Maybe this is the time,” Darlene said with a little hopeful half smile, encouraging her.

  Liam looked at Darlene, who’d slowly risen to her feet as well. “For what?” he asked.

  Rory shook her head, trying to silently communicate with her mother. Liam was just so damned angry. This was definitely not the moment, not the place.

  “For what?” he repeated in a dangerous voice, understanding they were keeping something from him.

  “Mom, I’ll handle this.” Rory stared hard at Darlene. “Maybe you should leave me and Liam to work things out.”

  “I understand, but now that you’re here—”

  “Mom, please. Let me handle this.”

  “Handle what?” Liam demanded.

  “I . . . I’ll go get some coffee,” Darlene said, looking worriedly at Rory, clearly wanting to stay.

  “I’ll call you later.” Rory prayed her mother would finally take the very broad hint, even
though she realized she would probably have to tell Liam the truth soon anyway. After she checked on Charlotte.

  “This has to do with your kid?” he deduced.

  “Yes.”

  Suspicions were gathering in his eyes, and though she wanted to blurt out what was becoming so blatantly obvious, she just needed a few more minutes before hitting him with the fact that he was a father, had been for five years, that in essence she’d kept not only the knowledge of his paternity, but the chance to meet his baby, see her grow, watch with amusement as Charlotte developed, that she’d kept both of their whereabouts a deep secret from him.

  Oh, man, this was going to be a nightmare. If he was angry now . . .

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “I’ve got to check on Charlotte.” She skimmed past him, not bothering with the elevator but heading for the stairs, passing her mother, who was taking her sweet time heading out of the building.

  Liam started after Rory immediately.

  Darlene called after them both. “Let her go. She’s had a tremendous shock.”

  “She’s shocked?” Liam’s laugh was bitter, without a trace of humor. “If you haven’t realized it, she’s trying to run away again.”

  From the corner of her eye, just as she reached the door marked STAIRS, Rory saw Darlene make a quick U-turn to head back toward the elevators, following Liam. No . . . no . . . This was getting worse by the second!

  “She’s not running away,” Darlene declared as Rory reached the stairs and yanked open the door. “Aurora would never leave Charlotte.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Is that right? Because she loves her daughter so much?” Liam was blunt. “Don’t kid yourself, Darlene, Rory would leave anyone to save her own skin.”

  Not true, Rory thought as the door slammed behind her. Her vision was blurred by angry, unshed tears as she climbed the carpeted steps, heading to the floor where Charlotte was situated in the ICU. She would defend Charlotte to the death, lay down her life for her child, even run away from the man she loved to protect her unborn baby. But Liam would never believe that major truth. Never. He’d painted his wife as a self-serving criminal who would flee any difficult situation. Well, fine, let him think what he wanted, she decided as she heard the door to the staircase open and bang shut below her. She and Charlotte had been on their own without Liam for over four years and they could damn well keep on as they had been, mother and child.

  “Rory! Stop!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the stairwell.

  Like hell. She caught a glimpse of him passing the landing of the floor below as he took the steps two at a time. Great. She kept moving, passing an intense man in scrubs and a thin goatee. He barely noticed the drama unfolding around him, his footsteps never faltering as he stared at the screen of his cell phone and headed downward. She had one more floor, but Liam was closing the gap, and as she reached the landing and took a swipe at the door handle, he caught her, his hands descending onto her shoulders.

  “Wait!” he insisted.

  She wanted to shake his fingers off, but stood stiff and resistant as he turned her toward him. They stared at each other. Though she felt wretched inside, her guts twisting with guilt, recrimination, and soul-blackening grief for Aaron, she refused to be intimidated. “It doesn’t matter what I say to you, Liam. Whether it’s the truth or some horrific lie, you won’t believe me. You’ve already decided not to believe me. You’ve cast yourself as my judge and jury and, yeah, you have your reasons, but I’m not going to waste my breath and bare my soul just to hear from you how bad I am. I know what I did, and why I did it. I’ve beat myself up over it for five years. But I did what I thought was best at the time.”

  “And was it?”

  “The jury’s still out on that one, and I’ve second-guessed myself every day of my life since I ran out of that hotel and stuffed my wedding dress in a garbage can.”

  “And yet you had time to find another man and have a child.”

  She didn’t answer for long moments. Was aware of the beating of her heart. The angry pulse visible at Liam’s temple. Of course that’s what he thought. The fact that he could be Charlotte’s father hadn’t crossed his mind yet.

  His cell phone rang in his pocket. It momentarily distracted him and she slipped from his grasp and yanked open the door, stepping into the hallway near the ICU, where she nearly ran into one of the nurses from the unit near the elevator bank.

  “Oh, Ms. Johnson,” the nurse said as she punched a button to call a car. “The doctor wants to talk to you.”

  Her heart somersaulted. “Charlotte?”

  “Your daughter’s asking for you and she’s much better. Dr. McMannis is going to release her to a private room in Pediatrics. It should only be just a day, or a matter of hours, before she can go home . . . I can’t say. You really need to talk to the doctor.”

  “Oh . . . thank God . . .” Rory was almost sick with relief as she hurried down the hall to the doors to the ICU, aware that Liam was right behind her.

  “Wait,” he called as she pounded on the buzzer and identified herself before being admitted into the unit. He was right on her heels.

  The door swung open and Rory stepped through, turning back to him. “Don’t try to follow me, because hospital security will throw you out. I’ll make sure of it.”

  His face flushed. “What about the police? Will security throw them out, too? Because they’ve got questions for you. Lots of them.”

  Her stomach squeezed with fear, but she managed to hold up a hand, her index finger raised to hold him at bay. What he was saying was true. One word to the police and she’d be dragged away from this hospital, her child, and . . . “Just give me a minute with my daughter, okay?” she croaked out. “I’ll be back, but first I have to make certain she’s safe.” The doors swung shut automatically behind her, cutting him out, and she hurried to Charlotte’s bedside, where Dr. McMannis stood typing into a keyboard that swiveled out from the wall. Charlotte, a smile breaking across her face, held her arms up to her mom.

  “She’s going to be fine,” the doctor said as Rory hugged her little girl, fighting the flood of tears that overwhelmed her. She sobbed once, then pressed her face to Charlotte’s hair as the doctor explained that Charlotte was “over the hump” with this particularly virulent strain of influenza. “She’s coughing less, breathing easier. We’ll be moving her to the Pediatric wing very soon.”

  “Thank you.” Reluctantly Rory slowly released Charlotte.

  “I want to go home, Mommy!” Charlotte cried.

  “You will, very soon,” the doctor assured her as Rory began to gather her daughter’s things. Home. Where was that? Not Point Roberts. Not Seattle. Not here, certainly.

  “But first you need to get better,” Rory said with an encouraging smile.

  “Her preschool will need to be informed,” McMannis said. “To advise them of the case. There could be others.”

  “It’s ABC and Me, in Point Roberts, Washington. I can call them.”

  “They are probably already all too aware, as this stuff is nasty, spreads like wildfire.” She gave Charlotte a thumbs-up and said, “You do as the nurses in Pediatrics tell you, okay?”

  “Okay,” Charlotte responded, lifting up her thumb in response. She coughed once, but it wasn’t with the same intensity. The difference between the listless girl Rory had carried into the hospital just yesterday and this bright-eyed little cherub was unbelievable.

  “I’ll call for an attendant to move her.”

  “Can I do it myself?” Rory asked. “There’s someone waiting for her in the hallway.”

  “Well . . .” The doctor glanced at Charlotte, who was already holding up her hands for Rory to pick her up. “I’ll let Pediatrics know you’re coming. They’ll have paperwork.” To Charlotte, she added, “I’ll see you in your new room.”

  Charlotte put her other thumb up as well and giggled, and Rory shook her head, amazed by the transformation.

  The doctor
said, “It’s remarkable, isn’t it, how they bounce back at this age.” And then a shadow passed over her eyes. “Unless they don’t, that is,” and Rory remembered the rumors of the child and older people who had recently died. “But with this strain, this is what happens. Either the patient suffers a few days of feeling achy and feverish, coughing and being off their food, sometimes vomiting, then makes a remarkable turnaround, or it develops into something worse.” Eyeing Rory, she said, “Settle Charlotte in, then go home, Mom. You look like you could use some rest.”

  Amen to that, Rory thought as the doctor, glancing at the screen of her phone again, headed off. She slapped the button for the electronic doors to open, then hurried through, her lab coat billowing behind her.

  Rory stifled a yawn. She’d had so little sleep in the past few days, last night being the worst, that Dr. McMannis’s advice sounded like heaven. She’d asked the staff about motel rooms and had been given the name of a couple that were nearby. After making certain that Charlotte was comfortable, maybe she could check into one and get some sleep and . . .

  Reality struck. Liam was waiting for her, threatening to call the police.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered, her throat tight. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Someone special.”

  “Who?” Charlotte asked, her eyes bright. “Unca Kent?”

  “No, honey, but it’s someone who’s . . . a good friend.” God help me, Rory thought, hoping Liam’s threat of the police hadn’t been acted upon yet. Her heart nearly stopped at the thought of Liam surrounded by officers of the law the first time he met his daughter.

  Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?

  There was a wheelchair beside the nurses’ station and Rory quickly brought it to Charlotte. The little girl was intrigued with riding and settled herself down, straightening her back like a queen.

  Jaw clenched, telling herself she could do this, Rory wheeled Charlotte back through the doors of the ICU. She spied Liam, just slipping his phone into his pocket. He’d found her little alcove where she’d spent the night. He was alone, thank God, and leaning on a pillar. His cold gaze met Rory’s in a heart-stopping moment, and then fell to the girl in the chair.